


game set match (we found love right where we are)

by ANNECY



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate universe - Wimbledon, Liam is just briefly mentioned, Louis and Harry play tennis, M/M, Niall is Louis' best friend, Nick is Louis' physio, Zayn is an awfully good tennisplayer, and against just briefly mentioned, and implied smut, and some minor angst, based on the movie Wimbledon, thats all - Freeform, theres fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:37:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNECY/pseuds/ANNECY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry whistled, effectively grabbing his attention. His green eyes danced and his curls were all over the place. Louis took a few deep breaths and slowly walked to the umpire, who congratulated him and he grabbed his stuff. Harry put his hand on his shoulder and Louis pulled his shoulder, ran his cheek against Harry's fingers and led them off the track.</p><p>*</p><p>louis and harry meet at wimbledon, they fall in love, kind off</p>
            </blockquote>





	game set match (we found love right where we are)

**Author's Note:**

> part of the title from ED SHEERAN's THINKING OUT LOUD
> 
> this is a fic i've written a long, long time ago, and 've tried re-writing it, at this is what happened. 
> 
> please keep in mind that it's all FICTION. none of it really happened. i don't own ONE DIRECTION or the rights or their names, neither do i know them personally. please do not send this to any of the boys or people who are close to them. 
> 
> based on the movie WIMBLEDON

**Game, set, match.**

 

Louis had been playing tennis his whole life, hell, tennis was his life.

 

Ever since he could remember he went to play the game with his father. Every Saturday and Sunday he stood along the court, watching with shining eyes, as his father won every game.

 

When he turned six, his parents let him play, once a week. Every week he came back with the best stories and how much fun he'd had with the rest of the kids in the small class. Of course it was fun, they didn't even play that much.

 

Two years later tennis became _real tennis_ , not just the games they played to _learn_ the game.

 

He was ten years when he started playing competitions every weekend, while he trained during the week. Every day, two hours a day, sometimes three.

 

Being ten years old and playing tennis wasn't that big of a deal. Everyone at school thought he was cool and homework was not a problem. Teachers loved that Louis was so good and he got better. And better. And better.

 

When homework became a problem at school and he wasn't even at school half the time, teachers gave him postponement for his schoolwork, he didn't have to hand in projects. His fellow students didn't like it much and refused to involve him in conversations, which was for the best, really. That way there were no distractions.

 

Now, eleven years later, he was standing alone, cold and nervous in the dressing room of the biggest tennis event in the world, _Wimbledon_. He had dreamed about this, this is what he'd lived for all those years. He was good enough to be here, he had worked so hard to get here.

 

His father had passed away years ago and his mum couldn't always travel with him, which didn't mean she wasn't proud of him. He knew she was watching every game on the telly and he knew that Niall would call her the whole match when it wouldn't be broadcast.

 

“Ready Lou?” A familiar voice echoed through the locker room and bouncing off the cold lockers. Louis rolled his shoulders and hoped from the bottom of his heart that his tape would hold.

 

Nick, his physiotherapist, had promised that he would be fine during the match. Louis had promised not to train the day before his first game.

 

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it encouraging. Louis shrugged, indicating that he didn't ignore Nialls gesture.

 

“Ready as I'll ever be,” he whispered and closed his eyes for a second, before blindly grabbing his bag. Niall led him with a hand on his back to the entrance and remained close to him. Louis felt the familiar calm that he always felt just before a game and Niall stopped him.

 

“Remember what I told you?”

 

“Hit the ball back over the net, as hard and as deep and as often as possible.”

 

“Good, remember the kid?”

 

“Guess so, erm,” Louis licked his lips and stared helplessly Niall. The blonde Irishman chuckles a lifted Louis' bag on his shoulder carefully.

 

“His name's Harry Styles, he's just turned twenty and he's from Holmes Chapel. He's number hundred of the world, he's quite good actually. Oh, and his best friend is Zayn Malik, number eight of the world, you know him don’t you?”

 

“Yeah. Zayn Malik. Good, okay, is it time yet?” Louis asked, his lip between his teeth and Niall sighed. He knew that nothing from the words he just said had really sunk in, but it didn't matter. The boy was concentrated and Niall knew what was going on in that pretty little head. Every pass and every shot he knew was he replaying in his imagination. Each weakness and every strength he thought through.

 

“You good?” Niall looked up, Louis stepped next to a young man, wild brown curls surrounding an innocent-looking face. A pair of green eyes shining and the man smiled.

 

“I’m good,” Louis murmured and without looking at Niall, he started walking out to the court. He heard people talk, footsteps following him.

 

“I'll see you at court!” Niall shouted after him and he knew where Niall would be sitting. The boy was standing at the top of the stairs, where the corridor Louis was walking out now. A shiver crept up on his spine as he waited for the doors to open. The young man standing next to him.

 

“Have a good game, Louis Tomlinson.” Louis' blue eyes darted to the man next to him, who threw him a blinding smile.

 

“You too, Harry Styles.”

 

“ ”

 

 **6** -4, 3-6, **6** -7, **7** -5. _Breath, Louis, breath._

From the corner of his eye he saw Niall. The blonde Irishman had his brow furrowed and looked focused on how Harry was getting ready to serve, again. His curls were pushed back with a headband and his green eyes looked tired, but focused. Louis tightened his grip on his racket and his blue eyes focused on the boy in front of him.

 

If he won this point, he was one step closer to finals. He forced himself to keep breathing, his muscles cramped and everything in him screamed for him take a break, but couldn’t. He wasn’t going to give up now. He was going to finish this match and with a little luck, if he played it right, he’d win.

 

Harry's arm shot into the air and the ball tumbled before Harry hit it over the net.

 

“Out!”

 

Louis sighed with relief when he heard that. He had seen the ball hit the ground outside of the lines, he’d tried to hit the ball back, but he was so fucking tired. His muscles protesting with every step, even more when he got ready to play.

 

Again, he watched as Harry took new balls from one of the ball boys and hit two back carelessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He leaned forward slightly and dropped one of the balls, letting it bounce back up from the gravel. He did it again, and again. Louis saw the muscles in his arms working, his green eyes flashed up to meet Louis’.

 

“Let this be over,” he mouthed and Louis blinked. Harry's hand shot up again, the yellow ball tumbled through the air. Louis' gaze fixed on the projectile that was beaten over the net with over a hundred kilometres per hour, towards him.

 

With a strangled cry he hit the ball back, out of reach of the younger boy on the other end of the court and the audience burst into loud cheers. Upon hearing the sound he felt all the energy leave his body and the voice of the umpire let him know that the point was for him.

 

Completely exhausted, he plopped down into one of the chairs and hid his sweaty face in one of the towels that a small girl with light brown hair handed him. The air was slowly cooling off, the warmth of the day, filled with sun, was getting chilly. The sky was turning a deep purple, indicating it was the sun was going to set at every minute.

 

“The game will proceed tomorrow at nine AM local time, therefore –” Louis ignored what was said and could only be grateful for the fact that he could go and sleep for a long time. His muscles ached and tears threatened to spill if he had to play any longer.

 

His stomach clenched when he got up and followed Harry down the court. He knew for certain that they had to play on Centre Court tomorrow. Everything would be broadcast on TV.

 

“ ”

 

“Holy mother of – Shit – Fuck – Niall!” Louis cried out, while the hands of the blonde Irishman rubbed his sore back. Niall knew what he was doing, he’d learned from Nick. Niall chuckled and ignored Louis' outbursts, he knew Louis was going to be so grateful after he was done with him.

 

“Lou, mate, you gotta relax. You tensing up is not helping,” Niall muttered, as he took to Louis' muscles in his lower back. Louis let out an agonized yelp and hid his face in his arms.

 

" _Niall_ ,” Louis whined, arching his back, trying to wiggle out from under Nialls touch. Niall just rolled his eyes and pinned him against the bed.

 

“You can move when I'm finished. Now, tell me about the game.”

 

“No.”

 

“Please Boo?” Niall begged and Louis gave up. He was to tormented and exhausted to fight the Irishman about it. They discussed every move and every hit, while Niall scolded him for every little mistake he made. Niall let him know that Harry had been keeping a close eye on him during the whole match, while Zayn had come up to him to have a bit of a chat.

 

“What does Zayn have to –” Louis moaned, relieved “– Ah, feels a lot better Irish, thanks,” Louis sighed halfway through his sentence. Niall laughed, pushing Louis’ shoulder gently.

 

“Zayn came to talk about you, to me. He seems like a nice lad and all.”

 

“Not my type, maybe yours. Anyway, I'm starving and God, I'm sore all over,”  Louis murmured and rolled onto his back. Nick was going to tape his shoulder again tomorrow, before the match.

 

“Take a shower and we'll get to eating. I'd like you to meet someone.” Louis rolled his eyes again and Niall pushed him towards the bathroom. “Go.”

 

~

 

Louis plopped down on one of the chairs and looked around. Niall was nowhere to be seen and he knew no-one. His gaze fell on the familiar appearance of Zayn Malik, but the boy didn't seem to notice him, too busy paying attention to his company, consisting of a number of girls with too short skirts.

 

“Louis Tomlinson.” Louis' blinked against the light and he smiled as he made out brown curls against the lights in the bar.

 

“Harry Styles, lovely to see you again,” he replied, motioning for the younger man to sit.

 

“Shouldn't you be sleeping? You looked exhausted after the match, thinking you're kind of old –” Harry made a vague gesture and downed the rest of his drink. Louis assumed it was some sort of alcohol and chose to ignore the comment about his age.

 

“Yeah, well, my best friend has amazing hands and a power nap does miracles. How about you? Young and growing?” Harry's eyes lit up and he laughed. 

 

His laugh sounded strange compared to his voice. It was higher than Louis expected and Harry, apparently, was ashamed of his outburst, because he slapped his hands over his mouth, looking at the table in front of him. Louis grinned and grabbed Harry's wrists.

 

“No need to be ashamed, look, it was a good game yeah? We just have to finish it tomorrow and – Yeah, well, may the best man win, right?”

 

Harry's green eyes lit up again and he nodded slowly. “You're right, 'm sorry. Let's have a drink, shall we?” Louis hesitated for a second, looking around. Niall was still nowhere to be seen and he honestly needed some alcohol.

 

“We shall.” He followed the twenty-year-old to the bar and sat down, knowing that this was a bad, _very bad_ idea.

 

“ ”

 

He was drunk but not as drunk as he really wanted or needed to be. He wanted to take more shots and he wanted to stare longer at Harry's eyes and he wanted more. Just more.

 

A touch here, a look there and very secretly, he hoped that the younger man would kiss him and would take him to his room and would kiss him again, pushing him against the wall, undressing him.

 

But that didn't happen.

 

What did happen was Niall pulling him away from Harry, with the message that he had to go back to his room and sleep. The promise that Harry would still be there tomorrow was the only thing that made Louis leave, eventually.

 

Louis had whined and protested, but Zayn had shown up to get Harry back to his own room as well and Louis stopped protesting, instead, he felt exhausted.

 

~

 

"He's still so young," Louis whispered in the dark, knowing no-one could hear him. What did it matter anyway, Harry was only twenty, what did the man know about lust?

 

Louis swallowed the bitter taste of alcohol away and forced himself to go to sleep.

He forced himself to dream about rackets and tennis balls, grass and the feeling of power that was behind his every movement.

 

He didn't dream about green eyes and bouncy brown curls and dimpled cheeks. Certainly not. Absolutely. Not. _No_.

 

“ ”

 

47-47. _God, this is not good, not good. At. All. Louis, breath!_

Louis was shouting at himself mentally. They’d been playing for hours, the score being 47-47. He didn't know how long he would last. His head felt heavy, his shoulder was killing him and Harry's green eyes danced as if he had all the energy in the world.

 

Louis cursed the person who had made the scoreboard.

 

“Because of some technical difficulties it has been decided to continue the match tomorrow –”

 

Again Louis ignored everything around him and hid in his room. He didn't care what happened around him. Niall left him alone, as he always did when Louis just disappeared. The Irishman knew that Louis wouldn't do anything stupid.

 

(Besides swallowing four Ibuprofen at once.)

 

He rolled another two of the pink pills over in his hand and just when he was about to swallow them dry, there was a knock on his door. With a strangled cry the pills flew through the room and Louis groaned when someone knocked again.

 

“What? Niall I thou – Oh, Harry, hi. How – What – Yeah, right, sorry, come on in,” Louis stuttered out and Harry grinned brightly. He stepped past Louis into the room. He eyed the room carefully, lingering on the bed, where he sat down with a sigh. Louis stared at him, confused.

 

“So, Louis Tomlinson, tell me about yourself.”

 

“I – uh – What – No, hold on. What are you doing here exactly? I mean – We're supposed to get ready for tomorrow,” Louis replied and Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“You sound like Zayn, let's have some fun. We both know you're going to win tomorrow, so, what's it matter anyway, look, I just want to have a good time and you're right fit and God, do _not_ look at me like that!” Harry laughed and this time he hid his smile, ducking his head a bit. Louis just stared at him, he knew exactly what the boy wanted.

 

“So, fun eh? What kind of fun were you thinking about then?”

 

“Well,” Harry muttered and sat up on his knees, he pulled Louis towards himself, while hooking his finger under the waistband of Louis' sweatpants. “I was thinking, that maybe you could help me relax, heard you're pretty good with your hands too.” Harry's voice was an octave lower than the few times Louis had heard it before. Louis stared at him open-mouthed. For a twenty-year-old boy he had a big mouth. With a strange feeling he tried to ignore the fact that he wondered what else was big about the boy. And no, he didn't mean it the wrong way. He thought of his hands, _really_.

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“From Zayn. He talked to Niall, y'know. They think it's nice to talk about us, about our strategies and all,” Harry murmured and Louis could only stare and think. The only thing he heard was _us_ , us, us. The words was floating, swirling around Louis’ head, making him dizzy and breathless. Green eyes were watching Louis, staring him down and Louis choked out a breath.

 

“Oh.” Oh, yeah, oh. Great.

 

“So, what do you say we find out how good you really are with those hands of yours, huh?” Harry's eyebrows raised a bit further up and Louis nearly choked on his breath when he felt Harry's hands on his hips, pulling him on top, laying down on his back.

 

Harry stared at Louis, holding him close, watching the way Louis’ arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. The younger man rolled Louis on his back,  effectively pinning him against the mattress.

 

“So, what d'ya say, hm?” Harry murmured near his ear and let his lips slide down his skin. The light touches made Louis dizzy, a bit nauseous and he made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. Harry giggled, he fucking _giggled_ and crawled off of Louis, before turning on the telly.

 

Harry sat back against the headboard of the bed, looking at the telly with interest, paying attention a stupid cooking program Louis hated.

 

Louis breathe out unsteadily and with trembling hands he grabbed Harry's shirt, to make him turn his attention back to him.

 

“I say that's the best thing you're ever said to me, so turn off the telly and look at me.”

 

Harry's green eyes sparkled mischievously, but nevertheless did what Louis asked of him. He threw the remote next to the bed and Louis flew forward. Lips touched with more force than expected and with a not-so-manly cry Harry fell backwards. Louis grinned and licked Harry's lower lip and sucked on it gently.

 

Hands roamed each other's bodies. Lips barely touching, Louis’ thighs slipping between Harry’s, grinding against the younger man. Harry's hands slid under Louis' shirt and Louis' lips moved to Harry's neck.

 

“Don't – Don't leave a mark,” Harry breathed out and Louis made a disapproving sound, before biting Harry's neck and pulling him close, close, _closer_ ,  against him.

 

“ ”

 

“Shit – Fuck, shit shit shit,” Louis groaned, hopping on one leg trying to pull on his pants.

 

Behind him he heard the rustle of blankets and he turned around when he finally had his pants on. Harry's green eyes were still sleepy and his brown curls pointing in all directions. He smiled slowly, tired and raised an eyebrow.

 

“What's going on?” He asked and yawned. Louis flipped him off, pulling a shirt over his head.

 

“We're supposed to play the rest of the match today and you're in my bed! You are in my fucking bed and we – You – Shit, get out, get out!” Louis frantically pulled his hands through his hair.

 

Images of last night raised flashed by, clear and real and fucking scary. Much too bright. They left a bitter taste in his mouth and Harry crawled out of bed. Louis' breathing quickened. Tears welled up in his eyes and Harry grabbed his wrists.

 

“Sit.” Louis obeyed immediately and looked up at Harry. The man stood in front him, without even wearing pants and knelt down in front of Louis. Louis' heart was working overtime.

 

“Look at me. Louis Tomlinson. You're a great player. You're going to win this, if you like it or not. I'm not that good y'know? I'm just twenty years old and we slept together and I'm not good enough to win this. Maybe next year, but not this year.

 

“You're good Louis Tomlinson and I'm going to let go of your hands now, yeah? I'm going to let go and you're going to get ready, as am I, and I'll see you at Centre Court and we're going to finish this and you're going to win and after today, I'll take you out on a date, all right?”

 

“All right,” Louis whispered back and Harry smiled. He stood up, his joints popping in the process and Louis winced. Harry grabbed his clothes, put then on and disappeared from the room.

 

Before Louis knew it, Niall found him next to the toilet, giving him a lecture and getting him ready for the match.

 

~

 

 **69** -68. _Oh my God, Harry was right. Harry was right. Maybe I am going to win. God, I can’t win! I don’t deserve to win. I need to breath, breath, breath. Oh, for crying out loud, breath!_

Louis' thoughts all tumbled over each other. It was the third day they started the same match and they'd been playing for almost eleven hours. Louis saw Niall and Zayn sitting next to the stairs and turned his gaze back to the man at the other side of the court.

 

Harry showed something of a smile and then stared at the ground. Louis' heart almost jumped out of his chest and he forced himself to concentrate. It was **30** -15, two points and he'd won. Two more points and then this endless game would be over and he could sleep. He could sleep for days.

 

Harry's arm shot up into the air, the ball tumbled and he hit it perfectly. The ball flew over the net with more than a hundred kilometres.

 

Louis sprinted to the ball and hit back. His racket shaking in his hand as he watched the ball land on Harry's part of the court. The boy narrowed his eyes and with all his strength he hit the ball back. Louis bit his lip and hit back harder and everything started spinning. He had no idea how long they played this rally but Harry eventually hit the point. 30-30.

 

Louis cursed himself, but pulled himself together quickly when Harry served again. Blind panic cursed through his body when he caught Harry's eye. _You're doing great_ , he  mouthed and Louis swallowed a lump in his throat. Harry hit the ball out two times and that Louis gave another point. **40** -30.

 

The crowd went crazy and Louis could swear that Harry did it on purpose. The younger man avoided his gaze and served for the last time. Louis' shoulder screamed in pain during the rally, he had to hold on for just a little bit longer.

 

Just one more point and he could get some rest. Then he could recover for a few days, he could sleep and maybe Harry would stay with him. Harry would take him on a date and they would probably just have a little fun and then he would leave when Louis had to start playing again and –

 

“Game, set, match, Tomlinson!”

 

Louis' shoulders slumped and tears welled up in his eyes. He'd done it. He'd won. He let his gaze wander over the crowd, he found Niall with his arms wrapped around Zayns broad shoulders. It was too intimate for just friends and Louis laughed hysterically. He'd won.

 

Harry whistled, effectively grabbing his attention. His green eyes danced and his curls were all over the place. Louis took a few deep breaths and slowly walked to the umpire, who congratulated him and he grabbed his stuff. Harry put his hand on his shoulder and Louis pulled his shoulder, ran his cheek against Harry's fingers and led them off the track.

 

“You did great Louis Tomlinson. It was a good match.”

 

“Yeah, you were not so bad yourself Harry Styles.” Harry smiled mischievously and nodded shortly.

 

“You have a press conference to go to, so do I. I'll see you around, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I'll see you around,” Louis whispered and the rest of the day passed in a blur. He didn't see Harry again that day.

 

“ ”

 

“Ah come on,” cried Harry frustrated and threw his racket in his bag. The umpire made a disapproving sound and Louis bit his lip. He stared at the man on the court. His curls were not as wild as they used to be, but his green eyes were still as vibrant.

 

“Come on Haz, stay calm, breath,” Louis whispered, knowing that the man couldn't hear him. Harry's green eyes were looking for him and when they finally found each other smiled Louis. He winked and put his hand on his heart. _You're doing great._

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He followed Louis' example and the referee pointed out that it was time, Harry's eyes looked up at the man. Louis looked at the score board.

 

 **6** -7, **3** -6, **6** -3, **6** -4.

 

If he'd win this last set, he'd win. Then this would be his fourth _Wimbledon_ title and then he'd be done. Louis laughed and ran his hands through his hair. Zayn and Niall sat next to him, together with Liam.

 

Liam was the latest addition to the team. Liam was Harry's PR. He had been a bit ignorant and just a boy when Harry found him, confused and without any sense of where he was. It had been at a dinner where Harry had received an award. Liam was there for work, but it was his first time, so he didn't, know what to do, _at all_.

 

Now, almost ten years later, they were all five best friends and Harry and Louis were still very happy together.

 

Louis stopped playing tennis a long time ago, after his second _Wimbledon_ title, his third _Roland Garros_ and first and last _Australian Open_ , he couldn't help but stop. His shoulder couldn't take it anymore and Harry had forced him to stop.

 

Every day, after each training,  the younger boy would find Louis in their bed, curled up into a ball, drowning in pain medication, the next day only to repeat the ritual of training and being in a lot of pain.

 

Zayn was, like Harry, still actively playing tennis, but knew he had to stop soon. Niall had become his faithful companion and went everywhere with him.

 

“Game, set, match, Styles.”

 

Louis's eyes flew open and Niall nudged him.

 

 **6** -7, **3** -6, **6** -3, **6** -4, **6** -4.

 

Harry's green eyes found him with a grin. He let his racket fall and rushed down the court, racing up the stairs and Louis got up. He laughed and Harry threw himself against Louis’ chest, wrapping his arms around his neck. Curls tickled Louis’ cheek, making him feel like home.

 

“You did it, _you did it_.” Harry laughed and framed Louis’ face in his hands.

 

“I love you.” Louis closed his eyes and felt Harry's lips against his.

 

 


End file.
